


teenage kicks

by resurrectdead



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1970s, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bad Puns, Banter, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, M/M, Marauders, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Shameless Smut, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, harry potter and the undeniably kinky dog collar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 06:22:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21070322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resurrectdead/pseuds/resurrectdead
Summary: Sirius looks at the collar again. Then at Remus. ”That?” He takes it with his other hand and measures it across his neck. Remus swallows. ”Moony,” he murmurs with all the cleverness gone. ”That’s the most inappropriate dog collar I’ve ever seen.”or: an idiots to lovers fic (when Remus realises he is in fact just as big of an idiot as Sirius)





	teenage kicks

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Note 1: The information is based on book three, attempting at slight canon, but please! do have understanding for mistakes  
Note 2: Sirius deserves a motorcycle so I gave him one  
Note 3: DON’T CONDONE BEASTIALITY. The dog puns are banter and I hope to fknnnn MERLIN they do nothing else than that  
Have a good stay!

”I’ll give that damn boy _flees_. I’ll dog-hump his bloody _pillowcase_.”

”And that image,” Remus concludes abruptly as he sits back up and closes the thick book he was reading with a _snap_, ”shall haunt me forever.”

”Good.”

Sirius grins and, to be honest, Remus is rather proud of himself in that very moment. Or perhaps in general too because, after all, he’s survived another whole year of Sirius tormenting his soul with horrid images such as these. 

That is, they are horrid in the sense that, hm, well, each time he kind of feels like he needs to cross his legs or, scoot away awkwardly and place another large book or two in his lap. (And he’s kind of running out of unique maneuvers to cover for him at this point. Help him.)

”Well I’m sure he didn’t _mean_ to,” Peter pipes in, wringing his hands. He’s standing in the doorway while he looks over where Sirius is going berserk, turning all of their furniture upside down. ”James probably, just like, borrowed the keys to open a mail. Or something.”

Sirius turns around and glares at him. 

Peter shrugs, pursing his lips is a non-accusable way. ”Just a thought.”

Sirius groans and Remus has to actively remind himself _not to think impure thoughts oh good God_ as he gets up and pretends to scan the room as well. He puts his book on his nightstand, surprisingly untouched by Sirius’ (relatively childish) rage. 

”Where is he, anyway?” he asks, much helpfully poking a shirt on the floor with his foot. 

”Off to steal my motorcycle, he is,” Sirius growls, kicking the bed with much larger effect. None of them even flinch at this point, which is neither good nor bad. 

Sirius, already 18, is quite touchy on the topic of his dear motorcycle. It’s part of his image, see, and like, you can’t just hurt his self-esteem like that. That’s proper animal cruelty. 

”Can’t spell trouble without Potter, can you,” Sirius seethes then, and he crosses his arms over the school tie and wrinkled shirt. ”Sodding fool.”

”That’s not even— well.” Remus shakes his head curtly then turns to Peter, still pursing his lips in the doorway and now with his eyebrows raised. ”Where’s the Map, then?”

Peter slips into an abashed smile. ”Left it by the One Eyed Witch,” he says, and Remus suddenly recalls crawling out of there a tuesday in early December, way before they left for their break over winter. ”Remember?” 

”Fucking hell,” Sirius splutters and turns to him too. ”Thought you brought it home over Christmas.”

Peter shrugs again. Remus raises an eyebrow. ”You know, Peter dear, you can just go fetch it and see where old Prongs is hiding.” He gives Sirius a meaning look. ”We can settle this like _civilized_ people.”

”I’ll have my wand ready,” Sirius starts in a slowly-growing snarl as Peter feverishly nods while turning out of the dormitory, ”and I swear if he so much as touches a _handle_,” the door closes loudly, ”I’ll hump his pillow until he _chokes_ on the _feathers_.”

”No need reminding me,” Remus acknowledges, sounding totally collected. ”Now. I’m sure you’ve just lost the keys somewhere. How many holes do you have in that leather jacket, hm?”

”Enough,” Sirius answers grimly. He walks around the bed to where Remus is standing.

”Enough to be _cool?_”

Sirius looks up at him from behind dark locks of hair with a twinkle in his eyes. ”Enough for you to keep asking.”

He drops down onto his bed, springs creaking. Remus starts to wildly imagine about a few too many things before he joins him in sitting. 

Thing is, sometimes Sirius - the most irresponsible punk he’s ever met - decides it appropriate to be close to him whenever they’re alone. And Remus - slowly falling apart at the seams - has never _been_ so _disrespected_. 

”It is cool, don’t you think?” Sirius asks rather gloomily, and Remus doesn’t know if he’s still sulking over his flying motorcycle, or having an identity crisis over his ripped and patched leather jacket. 

”Sure,” he agrees lightly. 

Sirius pouts at him. Remus can’t help but look, although, ah, it becomes a particularly hard task to continue doing when Sirius suddenly puts his chin on his shoulder. 

”You lie,” he whines, and Remus needs to like, go scream into a pillow. Preferably one untouched by Sirius’ groin. Although, well. _Well._

Remus jaw tightens, yet he can’t fight a smile. ”Fuck your puppy face,” he blurts out in a mutter, amusement spilling out. 

Sirius pulls back with a gasp. ”He curses!”

”Admirable.”

”Well.” Sirius stands up proudly. ”I think _that’s_ cool.”

He crosses him and takes a stride towards the book on his nightstand as Remus snickers, and for a moment (of might-be false hope), he indeed thinks he can do this. 

See, a silly little, _crush_, or whatever you want to call this disturbing mindset… it was nothing that couldn’t be repressed. Perhaps they would learn some sort of anti-infatuation spell anyway, or something of such in Potions, just to put him on the right track. 

Because nobody would ever return him those types of feelings.

It was a friendship too good to lose, anyway. It was an unwanted interruption and he never asked for this. He never asked for suddenly finding immense charm and equal amounts _frustration_ in what he can’t have, and yet, which is also what’s been on his side for over six years now. 

”Oh,” Sirius says abruptly from beside him, suddenly sounding clever. ”What’s this?”

Remus looks. And Remus can in fact absolutely _not_ do this. 

In Sirius’ hand lies a small blue box Remus thought he’d already thrown out. The bow around it gives it away. 

It’s unmistakably a present.

Sirius shakes it by his ear. ”For _me?_”

Well, as a matter of fact…

Fucking hell, the sound of clinking metal through the box really doesn’t help brighten his foreseeable future. 

Remus thinks he might just be stunned when he suddenly finds his voice again, swallowing and clenching his fingers in his sheets. 

”Uh,” he replies, helpfully. 

Sirius is already pulling the bow loose with an eyebrow raised expectantly. 

Thing is, Remus did buy this, in fact he did already back on his way home last term in the summer, then ended up saving it and saving it and felt too silly by his birthday and then Christmas came and Christmas went. He’d been too intrigued by the Camden streets of London at the time, because they have a lot of black and _cool_ things, they do, and well, who can blame him, being friends with such a talented animagus, well it only makes _sense_—

Sirius pulls the black leather strap out of the box. The spikes clink against the sides of the neat carton as he holds it up in front of himself between his thumb and index finger. They cover the whole side of the collar, not too long, not too sharp, but clearly enough to be _awfully_ indecent. 

That’s not the worst part. The worst part is the _hoop_. Dangling, o-shaped, metal. 

Sirius looks at him then, eyes indescribable. 

”It’s a—” Remus starts, trying to explain it with his hands or maybe rather, _try to flick it out of Sirius’ hand_ before he embarrasses him to _death_, but he gives up and stills. He nearly whispers the rest. ”Dog collar.”

Sirius looks at the collar again. Then at Remus. ”That?” He takes it with his other hand and measures it across his neck. Remus swallows. ”Moony,” he murmurs with all the cleverness gone. ”That’s the most inappropriate dog collar I’ve ever seen.”

”Yeah, I— I _know_,” Remus says, matter-of-factly and suddenly tries to snatch it weakly from his hands. Just end this moment, please. Just end his suffering. ”That’s why I wasn’t going to give it to you. It’s kind of, dangerous.”

Sirius keeps it in his hands in front of him. ”Not just that, is it,” he adds huskily, studying a spike now. He puts his finger to it. ”You don’t think it’s a bit, you know.” He hooks his finger in the hoop. ”Bit—?”

”What?” Remus truly whispers, but Sirius never elaborates. His head feels kind of thick. Is he about to compulsively apparate out of this room or, well, his heart is kind of beating hard, and he feels it in most irreligious places, _so_. 

Time feels slow, and the room feels hot. 

Sirius looks at it again. ”Why don’t _you_ try it, then?”

He moves back to sit next to him on the bed, and Remus manages to say: ”Oh.” It’s a mere breath. 

Sirius reaches it over for him in both his open palms. Remus fights an urge to bite his lip.

”_Why?_”

It wouldn’t fit him as a werewolf. It’s clearly a rebellious, cool, badass _dog_ thing. But would it fit him- as a _human?_ Would it— _would_ it?

”Because I want to.”

Remus stares at it. His head is swimming. His pulse is throbbing. ”What an odd inquiry,” he has time to distantly mumble before footsteps are heard running outside and they both wrench their heads towards the door. 

In his peripheral, Sirius throws the collar back down into the box, pops the lid back and tosses it into the bedside table drawer. The door swings open as he kicks the drawer closed and Peter tumbles in with the now-blank Marauder's Map in one hand and James trailing behind the other. 

”Sorry about that,” James says casually, grinning, and tosses the keys to Sirius’ motorcycle into the space that’s now between them on the bed, a space Remus didn’t notice himself making. 

Sirius picks them up and takes a second before he seems to remember to scowl and lower his voice again. ”Where did you bugger off to?” he growls as he clutches the keys in the air. ”You can’t just _take_ them.”

James shrugs and flings himself onto the bed, making them both bounce. ”I opened a letter.”

”Just what I said,” Peter squeals triumphantly. 

”It was from Lily and I guess I forgot them in my pocket.” He pouts innocently, but it’s far more inferior to the one Remus heartily likes. His eyelashes flutter behind his round glasses. ”_Sowwy, Siwius_.”

”Idiot,” Sirius grumbles, making James snigger and throw the pillow at him. Sirius breaks into an involuntary sneer and knocks his glasses off when he punches it back, and both are laughing by the time Peter is running to grab his own pillow and Remus figures, he loves all these stupid idiots, and joins in. 

Nobody notices when he quickly feels his cheek for a blush before he attacks James’ face with his pillow. It’s frankly quite warm, but, that’s just manageable. (Some other things, are not.)

Problem is.

Problem is, well, Remus has quite a lot of problems at the moment - not counting fearing the moonlight more than anything in the world and the brand new, large and gleaming scar he’s contracted across his poor teenage cheek - but also the fact that one of his best friends out of nowhere decided to become so incredibly _fit_. 

Astonishingly rude, that was. Extraordinarily. 

He could have hated his face just a good four years ago or so, he really could have, and he really _did_ at times. Sirius had a tendency of being the most outrageously irresponsible punk on top of being your average, everyday troublemaker. Remus could compile a whole, detailed list on why Sirius was an utter annoyance. Such as, Exhibit A: 

Year three, when they visited Hogsmeade for the first time, and Sirius attempted to push him down the Shrieking Shack. He succeeded. Remus caught his jacket and they almost both went tumbling down, only, Remus was not also _laughing hysterically_ about it. 

Little did he know, he was about to apologetically find out Remus was the reason it was so-called haunted, and well, it kind of was the start of them deciding to learn to transform into their respective animal forms to make him less lonesome. But...

Exhibit B: let’s see. Putting his feet in Remus’ lap while they sat in front of the fireplace that one night in October, year five; that was just the pinnacle of annoyance. He means that one time it suddenly made Remus’ poor, poor hormones spike to the point of needing to burst off to bed and count backwards from one hundred while the blood went back to boil in his face instead. 

Poor, poor Remus. 

It happened like this, of course, after someone had shot a spell at him to throw him into the freezing cold lake. His guess, of _course_, was that it was Severus, but nobody but Sirius believed that, as he covered him with blankets and pet his hair and lit him the fire to stop his hands from trembling no more. 

Still. Of course. You know. Sirius is just a _menace_. 

Exhibit C: stargazing one crispy cold November night when Sirius had awoken from a bad dream, some slurred unexplainable nonsense Remus listened to sympathetically, then cuddling up in his bed together as Remus lulled him back into calmer sleep with his thumb stroking his hand, arm slung over his waist as Remus’ heart thumped hard behind his ribcage, now, all of a sudden - after all these years of being _fine_, and _coping_, just _managing_ completely acceptably _well_ \- feeling filled to the brim with an unexplainable longing and tired, sad, overdue _desperation_. 

Year seven. 

A month ago. 

Of course, Sirius is also the best friend anyone could ever have. When he didn’t torment him into feeling like a worthless puddle, he made him feel like a king. A king with an aching heart and without mind to think logically, but a king no less. 

But see, there’s also an Exhibit A to why _Remus_ is unmistakably an irresponsible punk, just as well: he’s gifted his sodding attractive friend an _unmistakably kinky_ dog collar, and then he’s over here fussing and refusing to meet his eyes for the entire rest of the afternoon. 

He still looks at him, though. As soon as he doesn’t think he might notice. 

Just, pondering. 

”I had too much of the apple pie,” Peter groans when they walk out of the dining hall. 

”Me too,” James sobs. ”And juice. And everything else I saw.”

”Definitely gonna need to wank this off,” says Sirius and, incredibly, instantly looks large-eyed at Remus. ”Walk,” he snaps. ”I said _walk_.”

It’s silent for a too-long second before James guffaws a laugh. Peter just looks kind of _scandalised_. ”That’s a nice slip if I ever heard one,” James exclaims, incredulously. 

”It was a joke,” Sirius clarifies gruffly, although, jokes usually don’t need clarifying. Remus was kind of caught so off guard he doesn’t even have time to process it. ”I told you.”

”Great words,” Peter agrees. ”Such wisdom.”

Sirius scowls, a furrow between his eyebrows. ”Whatever. Exercise.”

”Maybe some dog swim in the lake will do you good,” Remus suggests then, good-naturedly, and the look on Sirius’ face is all but placid. 

He realises with fright it’s the first time he’s spoke to him since their little, _happening_. But it’s the first time he accidentally looked at him, too. 

That would translate to _perhaps_-not-the-best-time-for-your-friendly-everyday-deprecating-banter. 

James looks silently between them both, bemused, then winks at Sirius in a grossly obvious way and elbows his side. ”Remus sure keeps you on your _knees_, huh.” 

It’s Peter’s turn to burst out a surprised laugh, and James looks at him with his palms up in surrender. 

”I said _toes_,” he insists dumbly. ”Clearly. Keeps him on his _toes_.”

Remus is reading in his room the next afternoon when Sirius comes back from wherever he did nip off to. Remus quite enjoys the silent dormitory moments, as much as he enjoys the havoc. (He’s only a little bit too lonely. Or a lot.) 

_(He missed him so dearly.)_

”Afternoon,” Sirius greets sagely, cracking his knuckles in his wake. ”Potter told me about that letter yesterday that caused a right ruckus.” He flails his hands out in flamboyance. ”A _love_ one,” he adds in a silly tone, making Remus set his jaw. ”Motorcycle keys are just splendid for opening those, I’ve heard.”

Remus says nothing and Sirius crosses the room to their beds. He touches one of Remus’ notebooks on the bedside table absentmindedly. ”Special kind. So lucky he found mine.” He pokes it back into its place and strides back. ”Reckon we all should bet on when he’ll ask her the girlfriend-question?”

Remus says nothing a second time, and Sirius realises something, slows to a stop and stares at him. Stares until he lowers his book and meet his - somehow, amused - starkly grey eyes. 

”Oh, hello,” Remus says, calmly. He raises the book curtly for him to see. ”I’m reading.”

Sirius grins lopsidedly. ”Indeed.”

He rounds the bed back again and Remus follows him with just his eyes. 

”Care to join me for that swim in the lake, then?” he asks, stretching in front of the large window so that Remus just _has_ to watch his silhouette. ”Might be kind of cold, you know, but seeing as it was your suggestion…? We can do it,” he drops his arms with a sigh, ”_doggy style_.”

Remus chokes on air.

Sirius turns around. ”Pardon?”

Remus glares a bit. Just a little. ”No, please,” he insists politely, face deadpan but his eyes clearly large, ”you _first_.”

Sirius grin grows, if possibly, wider. He strides over happily to the bed and pops down onto it, making Remos bounce alone. Miserably so. 

Remus knows one thing in this moment. Sirius is taking the piss out of him, because he knows that he can, because he knows what he does to him. He must be. 

It’s only a logical part of being an irresponsible punk.

It's logical.

And the staring contest that commences is nothing if not intimidating. Also, slightly too close for Remus’ preference, just now. 

He tilts his head when he can’t take the silence anymore. ”What do you want?” 

”Pumpkin spice and you being nice.”

Remus raises his eyebrows in mock surprise. ”Then,” he scoffs, curling back up with his book in front of his face, ”you’ll just have to try harder.”

It wasn’t the right thing to say. 

And Sirius is being the biggest idiot on the planet when he plants his head on top of Remus’ bent knees. 

Remus clutches his book harder, refusing to look. That’s not fair. That’s so not fair. 

”You dropped something,” he says, and Sirius makes a disgruntled noise. 

”_Mooonyy_,” he whines from behind the totally much more interesting words in front of him. ”What do I _do?_”

Remus tries valiantly to focus on the reading. It’s impossible when his heart is rattling his ribcage. 

Even more so when he nearly hitches on his breath, as he feels big, warm hands close on his thighs. 

And then, how he speaks. ”What can I do for you?” 

Remus considers his options. Alright, okay. Count back from a hundred? Hm. Hit the book over Sirius’ head? Part his legs, pull him up, kiss him desperately? _All of the above?_

He starts by lowering his book. Sirius is watching him intently. 

”What do you think?” he whispers, but Remus frowns, and then, Remus breaks. 

”It was a mistake,” he blurts out, putting the book aside. ”Don’t you see?”

Sirius mirrors the frown. He looks conflicted. ”You _wha’?_” 

”I didn’t intend for you to find the collar, and I apologise, see,” Remus continues, ”so can you stop with this now?” He bites his lip abruptly before he adds: ”I can’t handle it.”

Sirius blinks. He doesn’t move away. 

A few seconds pass before he murmurs: ”I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

”Clearly,” Remus mutters, ”because you can’t see how you’re making me feel when you’re messing with me like this.”

Sirius’ brow really furrows with concern. Remus can feel it in his soul, if he ever did have one. ”Ah.”

Sirius releases his grip and Remus releases the breath he was holding. They both look at each other with nothing to say. 

Then Sirius grunts something with a tilt of his head, gestures in his approximate direction. ”Let’s calm.” 

He moves up along the bed until he’s slotted next to him, barely fitting both. Remus follows him with his gaze until Sirius looks up behind his long hair and gestures again, more intently. 

”Go on, then,” he gruffs, but with kindness in his voice. ”Lie down.”

Remus gives him a half-hearted scowl, hesitating, before he surrenders the last fight in him. 

He turns over - still rather moody, still rather gloomy - and curls up with his back turned to Sirius. Sirius shuffles behind him until his body curves his narrow frame. 

His hand floats cautiously above his body before he touches him. ”Can I?”

Remus nods. It’s so easy. Why is this so bloody easy, when nothing else ever is?

Sirius huffs a small little laugh, a kind one, then wraps his arms around him and closes their gap, spooning his body that’s slowly, slowly growing less tense and rigid and awful. 

It’s still awful, but still, Remus decides to accept the calm. He’ll accept, for now, that nothing makes sense anymore, and that Sirius doesn’t feel the same way as he does for him. Because he can still feel him and he can still be close to him, and that’s quite enough. 

He sighs deeply and accepts, too, the hand dangling around him. He links their fingers. It only works to make himself blush. 

Remus feels Sirius’ hot mouth brush his ear and fights the shudder traveling up his spine. 

”I apologise,” Sirius murmurs, softly and kindly, ”for being a prick. And bothering you.” He squeezes his hand. ”I didn’t realise it.”

This. This is the friendship Remus adores so dearly. 

He nods silently, closing his eyes. ”Yeah,” he says, ”thank you.” And he hears Sirius smile through the little sigh he emits. 

He lies himself down comfortable again, and that’s when the door opens. 

Sirius immediately wrenches his head to look over his shoulder at the opening. ”Potter!” he bellows. ”You get the _fuck_ out. We’re being _fragile_.”

Remus can’t help the laugh that escapes him then. 

Neither can James. ”I was just grabbing more ink.” He hears him shuffle things. ”I’m leaving. I’m gone. Bye.”

”And if you tell anyone,” Sirius growls after him. ”I’ll-”

”Eat my homework, piss in my bag,” James counts tiredly. ”Right, yep, got it. Got it. See you!”

The door slams closed and Remus laughs more as Sirius cuddles up behind him again, grinning against the back of his neck. 

And Remus _almost_ starts to tell him just how much he loves him. 

”How do you impress someone?” James asks while bobbing in the air.

The ground is frozen and nobody in no shape or form should be playing - nor watching - Quidditch. And, yet.

”I mean, not someone,” he adds, releasing his broom to gesticulate. ”Not just _anyone_.”

Remus’ scarlet scarf is wrapped tight around him to cancel out the biting cold. His scars feel odd and tingly in such weather. Only his eyes dart between James, Peter and Sirius, adding a frown on the part of his face still showing. 

He’s also wearing Sirius’ jumper under his coat, because what else would he wear? How silly. Impossible. 

”Fall off your broom and tell her you fell for her,” Peter supplies and James fake-laughs, _har-har-har_. 

”Take her on a ride and push her to ask if she fell from the sky, because she’s _an angel_,” Sirius sing-songs, and James badly aims a kick at him. ”Alright, well, buy her a necklace, I dunno.”

Remus frowns at him alone; whole body turning, like the opposite of an owl. ”You think she’d like a _necklace?”_ he asks incredulously, muffled so that he’s not sure anyone but Sirius can actually pick up on him. ”Cliché.”

Sirius cocks an eyebrow at him. ”I’m cliché?”

Remus says nothing. Snowflakes are catching in Sirius’ long, unruly hair, mesmerizing him. He seems to notice. 

Sirius lowers his voice. ”If I was _James_,” he says, and he wipes a snowflake from Remus’ cheek with his thumb so that Remus holds his breath, ”I’d think, I’d like to _see_ it.”

Oh! Oh no. 

Remus stomach flutters at the words alone, and Sirius retracts his hand, face buoyant. But does he really mean...? 

Is he really still…?

Goddamn it. Remus has been the idiot all along.

”Give her a letter back,” Peter pipes in, rubbing his hands together through his fingerless gloves and James hums approvingly. ”Another love one, you know.”

”Give her a song,” Sirius says then, and James nods more excitedly. ”Give her a ballad, a love song. Come on, Prongs, where’s your singing voice? Let’s all hear it now.”

It earns him another kick that’s aimed just that much better. 

As Remus steps out of the way for the scene of the crime, he decides, solemnly: he’s going to now also learn the art of seduction. 

Remus checks the lunar chart and remembers the exact dates and hours better than his upcoming homework and exams. This is simply because it means another trip to the good old Whomping Willow and tearing himself apart a little bit extra. 

It’s simply the worst thing that’s ever happened to him, and it just happens to happen: repeatedly. 

By the time he knows it’s only a matter of hours before nightfall and, inevitably, his impending doom (just one he experiences, you know, _every single month almost his entire life_), he decides: he’s tired. He’s so tired of this. 

He picks up the little box, now unwrapped, and pops the lid. 

He circles the black, spiked collar gently around his throat, and it clinks rather delightfully when he hooks it in place. It makes his stomach flutter in strange ways. When he checks it in the mirror, he’s no better off. 

No wonder he thought, in a moment of lost self control, that this would look incredible on Sirius. 

Alright, now, how _do_ you seduce someone?

The boy in question enters the room only a matter of minutes later, making Remus startle and leave the mirror he’s been considering himself in, slightly flustered. 

And he instantly, _attractively_, starts going off about Peter’s _detention_. 

Now as for poor James, bless him, Lily had actually asked him out for a date - after he tried every line in the book and got on his knees to declare in song that the colour of her hair is the same as his burning love for her - if anyone could believe it. She probably did it to shut him up, if Remus’ honest.

So he’d be gone for the evening, missing the great gathering, to transform at the Shack in a few hours time when the moon unveiled itself. 

Remus seats himself on the chilled window sill and takes his eyes off a livid Remus to watch birds sailing across the baby pink sky, a giddy nervousness fluttering in his chest. 

”And now he’s washing all the floor in the hospital wing,” Sirius grumbles, finishing, dropping his bag on the bed, ”_without_ magic.”

It was something to do with a little too-wild prank on Severus, something James was actually also part of, Peter taking his blame, and well; Remus didn’t really listen. ”Brilliant,” he says, watching Sirius shrug his blazer off with his back turned to him. He wets his lips and feels the small strain on the front of his throat. 

It just means one less probability of someone walking in on him with a sterling accessory such as this. 

He’d have to perfect his memory charm. That’s all. 

”And,” he continues casually, ”are we still doing the bet? Will he ask her tonight?” 

Really, it was just him and Sirius left. That’s all. That’s, actually, incredulously great. 

”If you’re brave enough,” Sirius sneers. He turns around and still, no reaction. ”I’m a good gambler. Not necessarily a _nice_ one, mind.”

Remus cocks an eyebrow with a smirk. ”And you expect I would be?”

Sirius scoffs, amused. ”No.” The last of the sun dips below the tall treetops as he walks over to him, looks out the window with something amused on his usually hard face. ”God I hope they bone tonight.” Remus huffs a laugh, scandalised. ”What? It's about time.”

He nods his head from side to side, neck feeling hot and flushed. His head feels buzzing with nerves and, like, his utterly embarrassing turned-on-ness. He does _not_ want to think about such _acts_ of his _friend_ when he’s concentrating on being an excellent, proper _seducer_. 

Sirius grins with a twinkle in his eyes. He walks up close to Remus and puts his hand on either of his biceps. ”And, how are you feeling now?”

Remus looks him in the eyes, craning his neck only a little. ”Splendid.”

”Hm?” Sirius smirks. ”And why is— _oh_.”

Sirius stops dead in his tracks, eyes fixed below his chin.

He doesn’t speak. All Remus has to go by, is the way his breath goes suddenly ragged and deep, but frankly - dear God - so does his _own_. 

He moves his hand up, to touch, sliding it softly with his fingertips grazing the cloth of his white shirt as Remus visibly shudders. 

”Oh,” Sirius says again, suddenly gripping hard with nails digging in his shoulder. 

”Go on,” Remus finds himself murmuring. 

Sirius’ jaw tightens. He caresses across his sternum, nudging the buttons on his neatly flattened shirt and up to his throat, hand wrapping gently around his neck and thumb brushing the spikes. 

Remus swallows, parts his lips. His tummy is fluttering wildly. 

Sirius’ pupils grow large. ”Fuck,” he gruffs, finger tracing towards the metal hoop in front of the collar. 

He hooks his finger in it, and tugs. 

Remus’ lips crash into his with a little involuntary moan, surprised as he was, but there they are, and then they’re kissing. Buy Sirius responds to it when he curls his hand in the back of his hair, other hand tugging on the collar, keeps him there, pushing him closer, and oh my God. Oh my _God_. 

Remus brackets his arms around him, doing the same. Don’t go. Don’t move away now. 

He wouldn’t fucking _dare_ stop _kissing him_.

They knock something off the window sill, glass squeaking; he doesn’t care. Sirius tries to fit his knee up to get closer, kind of stabs Remus’s thigh but does he care? No because listen, it only just managed to bring them closer, and when Remus shuffles his body the tiniest bit forward—

Their crotches brush together, both moaning against each other’s lips. Sirius won’t let go of him, he just thrusts his hips forward again, Remus gripping the back of his shirt and feeling like he might just _combust_ with how hard his pulse is thumping, whole body feeling hot, alight, and all around embraced by Sirius’ own sweet heat. 

He’s the first one to release the grip on his shirt, sliding his hand down to dip down over the front of his trousers, and he swears he feel him _twitch_, feels the whole outline of him and oh my _God_. 

Sirius’ shuddering breath as he palms him is all but calming his madly drumming heartbeat. 

Sirius’ lips leave his own - it’s miserable, a tragedy - but it’s to kiss his neck, wet and open and _hot_ and a sudden moan rips out of Remus, filthy and real, neck craning to give him space. His nails dig into his back, hand moving more determinedly as he rubs the growing bulge. 

The feeling of lips on his neck is nothing short of sinful, Sirius kissing wherever he can reach on his neck and jaw. 

”You look so hot,” Sirius breathes, sucking hard and giving a small _bite_ followed by a tiny keen from Remus. He’s sounding something like annoyed, desperate, something in between. ”You dickhead,” he growls on, which Remus can’t even muster a laugh at right now. ”Fuck you looking so hot. Fuck. You’re gorgeous.”

Remus actually feels like _sobbing_ from this arousal. His free hand fumbles along to Sirius’ front, grabs the tie still around Sirius’ neck and pulls him closer yet. His hips stutter towards his touch, breaths labored, and Remus doesn’t even know _half_ the embarrassing sounds and shudders that leave _himself_ in that moment, just that there’s— quite a _few_. 

”Fuck off,” he murmurs in response, just melting into it all. 

Sirius’ hands leave the collar to flicker to the zipper of his trousers, with Remus immediately, _embarrassingly_, bucking his hips to the small touch, a whimper escaping into the air. Sirius pops the button, but then grips a strong hold of his hip, holding him back down and steady as he pulls the zipper down with the other and dips his hand inside his pants. Remus’ breath hitches, and stays that way. 

He takes a shuddering breath only when Sirius starts sliding his hot hand along his cock, Remus’ own hand moving feverishly, grinding against his touch and feeling Sirius do the same against his. 

”You are,” Remus moans between pants, wants to grind directly against his cock and feel every inch of him, the heat and the slickness. ”You look hot and always, always do - you absolute - _imbecile_.”

Sirius’ hand slides up below his shirt up from his hip, touching up his torso and Remus truly whimpers, moans, whines, everything at once before he wrestles his hand forcefully below Sirius’ waistline as well, wrapping his hand around his cock with a large sigh that’s instantly mirrored by Sirius, turns into a desperate-sounding, high-strung moan against his neck. 

Sirius’ hand escapes his shirt as Remus jerks his own hand, coming up to wrap around his neck where his mouth is not kissing, thumb pressing against the front.

”_Fuck_,” Sirius mewls against his skin and then his hips stutter, body stiffening as he spills hotly over his hand. He gives a few more sloppy thrusts of his hips as he rides out the orgasm, sucking so hard on Remus’ neck, he’s positive it’ll leave a bruise. 

He tugs the hoop on the collar again, and Remus is so incredibly close. 

”Should I—” Sirius breathes, somewhere distant, jerking faster as Remus’ stomach tightens. ”Or can you—?”

Remus comes from the mere _mental image_ of Sirius on his knees between his thighs. 

The edges of his vision blur out, legs quivering before he’s back to consciousness, and— partially, it’s not that great to be back to reality, because in reality there’s an uncomfortably sticky feeling in his pants as Sirius withdraws his hand. 

Partially, it’s _fantastic_ to be back, because Sirius is looking so dishevelled and smug, a slight flush on his cheeks and shirt wrinkled and tie pulled loose. He might have never looked so beautiful, nor happy. Nor fucked out.

He flushes at the sight, but then reaches for some tissue paper. 

”Thank you kindly,” Sirius says when he offers him one. He proceeds to wipe Remus’ own hand with it, and Remus pulls away with a laugh. 

”I’m an adult too, thank you,” he says exasperatedly, wiping himself up and distinctly ignoring Sirius’ grin, because if he didn’t, he’d just never get stuff done. 

Remus takes his collar off slowly, feeling his neck. The small stinging places are to remind him later that this wasn’t just a dream. 

That’s when he realises Sirius looks thoughtful. 

Remus stomach suddenly lurches. ”Don’t you tell me you-”

”Oh!” Sirius’ eyes go wide. ”I don’t- I don’t _regret_ it. No.”

He stops himself and looks up at the ceiling. Takes a deep breath. 

Remus himself has never been so happy in his life, yet also, never so uncertain. 

He furrows his brow. ”Well, thank God?”

Sirius nods shortly. Then he breathes out heavily, grabs Remus’ hand and leads him off to the bed, where he seats him down gently on the bedspread. 

”I uh, have something for you,” he says and, to Remus’ astonishment, slides out something from under the notebooks on Remus’ bedside table. ”You’re pretty stupid for not finding it, for your information. It would have been so good.”

Remus distantly remember him poking around there the other day when Remus was visibly moping over him. He didn’t put anything there though. For sure, he would have seen that. 

So then he _planned it_.

He glares in disbelief as Sirius reaches over a piece of folded parchment. ”Here. For you.”

He ogles it. ”_Honestly?”_

”I was very upset,” Sirius affirms, deadpan, still referring to Remus’ poor scavenger skills. ”Now, if you don’t fucking mind—” 

Remus takes the paper from him and Sirius stays standing, seeming very nervous, which is just so utterly out of character for him. 

”You don’t need to nick my keys for this one. Just, go on.”

Remus unfolds the parchment once, reading the ink in Sirius’ finest handwriting, the best he’s ever seen him write:

_”I found a song called ’I wanna be your dog’ in a muggle record shop when we went back here_  
_What more romance can I quote for you to get I’m not messing with you?_  
_Consider this your own personal love letter, and a confession I hope you’ll find amusing rather than punch me in the face for_

_Always yours, Sirius._  
_And it didn’t take me long to realise it”_

Remus has to read it a few times to truly get what he’s seeing. 

It’s like warmth blossoms in his chest. It’s like sparkly lights turn on in his mind. 

He looks up slowly behind his fringe at Sirius, standing over him, fretting. 

”We should probably stop with the dog puns,” Remus comments, calmly. 

”We should,” Sirius agrees immediately. ”And?”

Remus blinks. ”And?”

But a smile is slowly growing on both their faces. If Remus didn’t know better, he’d think Sirius was nearly _blushing_.

”And,” Remus continues, slapping his arm with his love letter for good emphasis, ”you know it damn well. I do love you too.” 

The way Sirius’ face lights up is everything to him. 

”You fucking god-awful _twat_,” he adds as an afterthought with another firm _slap_. 

Sirius grabs his wrist from hitting him again and grins so happily, so very happily. ”At least it’s not a punch in the face,” he murmurs with relief as he falls down into his lap and Remus grabs his face to kiss him again. 

A non-estimated amount of time later, they’re buttoning their shirts and tucking them back into their trousers. Knocking shoulders and grinning and helping each other tie each other’s shoes. 

Remus finds the spiky collar discarded by his bed, and he holds it up between them. ”Shall I bring this?” he asks, amused. ”We can just see if you’ll drop it in the forest.”

”Me?” 

Sirius takes it from him but shakes his head, and he drops it back into his bedside table. 

”Keep it,” he decides, nudging it closed with his foot. ”Next time, you can let me see what it looks like from the top.” He winks at Remus’ baffled face. ”When you’re on your knees in front of me.”

Remus punches his arm, scandalised. ”Bad doggy gets _no_ treats,” he huffs. 

They’re silent for a beat. 

”No more dog puns,” they agree in almost perfect unison. 

And then they both leave their dormitory quickly; giggly and grinning.

**Author's Note:**

> Moody Moony got the D... Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk (:
> 
> This was inspired by the end paragraphs of a wonderful fic called The Problem with Eggnog, Uncommon Thoughts, and Sharing a Bed with Sirius Black. I’d recommend it, but, why u here if you haven’t read the fine classics??
> 
> Anygays. Since my mind is mostly made of music, let me leave you with some! The title is Teenage Kicks by The Undertones. Sirius' choice, I do believe. (Another working title was "take another little piece of my heart" aka Piece of My Heart by Janis Joplin, but I think I'll just recommend it as a banger.) Then, I imagine tracks of Remus' existance is ones such as, like, Dion - Havin' Fun. And it's also likely that John Lennon - Just Like Starting Over is playing in the end there.
> 
> We stan only < 70's music and gays in this household!!!


End file.
